Untitled
by Romance on Express
Summary: A little consideration I made when I came across Soap's death. Kinda an OC, but kinda not, depending on how well you know welsh mythology.


MacTavish looked around, his wounds completely forgotten as the scene before him settled on his vision. It was strange, an earthy forest and a river, floating amongst silver fog. The emerald thin leaves of weeping willows and giant yews shone from a mysterious light, as no sun floated in the sky, though it was well-lit in the clearing. On the forest floor grew spears of pointed leaved plants, shaded dark, though they still seemed to glow under the canopy. The ground was the colour of fertile soil, rich and soft looking. The water sparkled the colour of jewels, until he walked closer and saw a deep red stain the bottom. Or, at least, he thought it was the bottom.  
Turning again, he tried to understand why he was here. Last he remembered, he was being dragged by Price, his wound bleeding out and his body protesting any more activity. His vision fading, his words choking out of him, mind praying to any damn god in existence or not to keep Price safe, and then… nothing. He was quite certain he had died, judging by his memory. Looking down, his hand raised to his stab wound, fatal, but no longer bleeding, his clothes a dark crimson where the blood had dried. His brow frowned in confusion.

He was dead. He was damn certain of it. Then this place… He raised his head again to look around, turning in a slow circle. This… was Heaven?

"My dear, no."

He spun around towards the voice, clear and deep from the forest. Dressed in blue gowns stood a beautiful woman, her hair cascading around her in waves of fire, eyes reflecting the forest and earth around her. She smiled, titling her head to the trees around them, removing her gaze from him to forest.  
"My child, no, this is but my humble realm. If you wish to move onto Heaven… I could have it arranged." Her eyes bore into his again, startling him in their colour. Stupid of him, really, to feel so put off by them.

He thought he'd understood now. His grandmother told him tales of the Tuatha Dé Danann, pagan gods and goddesses and the such. Never in his adult life did he consider them real, until…  
"Wait, so you're the goddess of death then? Morrigan? You brought me here because I prayed to you?"  
"You asked me to protect your companion. I shall, though only if you believed me able to. To do so, you needed to believe me real."

John raised his eyebrows at that. Most stories of gods made them out to want something from the humans they helped, and he really believe all this was happening (and really, what other explanation was there for him?), then he had to play along with what he knew. Although, what he used to know and believe has just been thrown out of loop, the presence of other gods and realms and Heaven actually existing…  
"You may remain here until you're thoughts are settled, John. I will not force you to choose to believe. Or to remain here longer then you wish.  
"If I'm here, then something in me already believes, does it not?"  
"Yes… but if you don't wish to believe…"  
"I'll believe in anything if it'll help the old man."  
Morrigan smiled at him for the nickname, folding in hands contently. Humans were always so interesting in their treatment of eachother, some especially in their loved ones.

MacTavish ran a bloodied hand through his mohawk, still a tad unsettled by the recent news, contemplating. "So, if I believe you're a dark, soul-stealing goddess that's selfish for attention, would you become one?"  
She chuckled, "No, my child, I would not. That's not how we are. Just… believe that our forms may be fixed in your human world, but we have our own forms within our realms of power."  
"… I see…"  
The goddess nodded, and re-affirmed John Price's safety to the young warrior before her.

"So, what will happen to me if I didn't want to move onto Heaven?"

"You may become one of my guiding fighters, protecting others in battle in the world of the living. Or you may be content to stay here until you've decided upon your choice of destination. I'll not rush you."

"I… If I became one of your fighters, I'll protect whomever I want? Not just your favourites?"  
"My favourites, as you call them, are granted time here in my realm. You may protect whomever you deem worthy."  
He paused for a second, considering her subtle admittance to him. Finally, he said "I think I'll like that then, my lady."  
"You are not being rushed, though I understand your restlessness, my dear."

He took a few cautious steps towards her, unsure of her customs, though certain of his decision. He figured by now that she could read his mind… soul… whatever it was that she did here.

She walked forward so that they were a meter apart, her silken skirts silent across the dirt and leaves. Her arms outstretched to him, offering her hands for him to take. He did after moment's consideration, thinking of his team, of his fallen companions, knowing he is now considered among them. Though the goddess promised to protect Price, he was still going to keep an eye on him, in case Makarov could still win...

He smiled to himself, the thought of angel-fighters, guardian angels protecting those they love and cherish. Well, he supposed that was true enough, especially with Morrigans presence here and her claims to Heaven's existence. For now, it was enough for him to be able to protect the Simon's and Gary's and other John's that needed it. That deserved it.

And with that, MacTavish stepped into the goddess's embrace, wrapping his quickly dematerializing arms around her form as they left the realm of death and became something more together, something that gave him power and knowledge and a new form of life and purpose.


End file.
